


What In God-Satan-Someone's Name Are You Doing!

by storywriter8



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1960s, Aziraphale Is Not A Virgin, Dirty Talk, Disco Crowley, Flirty Aziraphale (Good Omens), Flower Child Aziraphale, Happy Ending, M/M, Pre-Apocalypse, Pre-Relationship, Summer of Love - Freeform, discussion of orgy, dumb boys being cute, flustered crowley, soft Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 14:52:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19478185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storywriter8/pseuds/storywriter8
Summary: Crowley hates being sent to America, even more so with this whole ridiculous celebration oflove. But when he sees Aziraphale high as a kite, well that changes things.





	What In God-Satan-Someone's Name Are You Doing!

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to write myself out of writers block and made this thingy. Cause lets face it, Aziraphale indulges in ALL the Earthly pleasures and Crowley isn't nearly as smooth as he thinks he is.

Crowley tapped a finger against his desk with increasing annoyance as the phone pressed against his ear rang on. Letting out another frustrated growl as the answering machine clicked, the fallen angel took his temper out on the blasted thing. “Fine! Fine fine fine fine fine! I'll go do it myself! But don't expect me to pick up the phone next time you get sent to Finland! You owe me two temptations for this!”

Slamming the receiver down, Crowley slid forward across his desk and had himself a good long pout before finally dragging himself to his feet. “Damn it Aziraphale! You know how much I hate going to America!”

1967, Summer of. San Francisco, USA.

Crowley did his best to keep the scowl off his face as he halfheartedly tried to blend in with the hippies and flower children frolicking about while giving all and sundry a judgmental twitch of his mustache. The angel would have loved this place, happily taken the demon’s temptation mission just to spend a few hours bathed in the love being thrown about. Not answering any of Crowley’s six phone calls meant that not only did he miss the Summer of Love, but the demon had to put up with it.

“Just tempt the bloody sods and get the Hell out,” Crowley muttered to himself, dodging a woman wielding a daisy chain.

He had made it about halfway across the field toward the line of cops that was his goal, letting his slitted eyes roam the crowds from behind his sunglasses, when he stopped short. Whipping back around, the demon’s jaw dropped.

Right fucking there, a little to the left, was Aziraphale, a bouquet of flowers braided into his white hair and wearing a tie dye tunic with a hideous pair of bell bottoms. The angel was lounging on a colorful rug with two shirtless men feeding him grapes and laughing as the strangers’ fingers ghosted over his body.

“What in the bloody heav-hel-EARTH are you doing!” Crowley shouted, leaping forward to protect his oblivious idiot of a friend from being groped.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried in delight, flinging his arms around the demon as he was pulled to his feet. “Now this place really is perfect!”

Letting his glasses slide down his nose to growl at the frowning perverts defiling his angel, Crowley tried to keep them both standing as Aziraphale swayed from side to side. Turning his frown to the blond, the demon squinted at his blown pupils and sniffed the air. “Are you high?”

“Absolutely,” Aziraphale purred, leaning forward until their noses were touching.

“Well sober up! You have no idea what kind of trouble you could get in in this kind of place. We are leaving! You owe me four now!” Crowley snapped, giving his friend a little shake.

The angel frowned, glistening lips parting to argue when one of the hippies interrupted. “It's time for the orgy!” he called, waving for the celestial being to follow him.

The demon’s mouth fell open again as he prepared himself to give the human a piece of his mind when something even more unexpected happened. 

“Ohhh! You must accompany me to the orgy!” Aziraphale said, a huge smile lighting up his face.

Hell’s fire had nothing on the shade of red that Crowley’s face turned at hearing the word ‘Orgy’ leave the angel’s lips. Sputtering, he tried to pull himself free from Aziraphale’s arms. “You don't know what an orgy is! Don't say such things!”

Frowning, Aziraphale tightened his grip to keep the demon from escaping. “I do too! It is the sharing of desire and closeness. Making love to one another in free abandonment! I want you, to hold me, touch me. No one ever touches me.”

Nuzzling closer, the angel’s eyes fell half shut as he murmured into Crowley’s ear, his hot breath puffing against the demon’s neck, “I want you to take me apart and fill me with your fire before putting me back together again so I never have to feel the cold of the halls above again. I want to know what that snake tongue of yours can do. I want-”

Crowley quietly loops his arms around the angel as he lost consciousness from the snap of the demon’s fingers. For one long moment he held Aziraphale close, hiding his burning cheeks in his fluffy blond locks.

The people of San Francisco would just have to tempt and miracle themselves this time. Turning his back to the humans, Crowley let his black wings unfurl. Hidden by his powers, the demon flew the sleeping angel back home safe to his crowded little bookshop.

Gently easing Aziraphale down into the small bed in the even smaller flat above the shop, Crowley let himself smile slightly. Letting his sunglasses dangle from his fingertips, the demon tucked a curl of the sleeping angel’s hair back behind his ear. “Sleep it off, Angel,” he murmured, bending down to press his lips to Aziraphale’s temple. 

-

Aziraphale woke with a start, sitting bolt upright and patting in confusion at his strange clothes and braided hair. “Oh my,” he whispered as the memories of the previous day and each filthy little hidden desire he had murmured into his friend’s ear came back. “Oh no no no no no.”

Staggering out of bed and pausing only to miracle up himself some proper clothes, the angel scrambled to his phone and quickly dialed up Crowley.

“It's about bloody time,” the demon said from behind him, sipping tea from his favorite of the angel’s cups. 

Aziraphale jumped and dropped the receiver, fumbling and stammering as he tired to pick the thing up again. “Yes well, ah, about yesterday.”

“Which part of yesterday? The part where you ran off to the States without checking with me first to see if I had a job in the area, too? The part where you got high with a bunch of hippies? Or the part where I had to drag your celestial ass all the way back over the pond after you nodded off?” Crowley asked, a teasing smirk playing about his lips as he turned away to pour the angel his own cuppa.

“The part where I might have said something I wouldn't normally have said if I was in my right mind?” Aziraphale offered weakly, already wincing away in anticipation of his friend’s disgust.

Crowley smiled a secret little loving smile just for himself before turning back and holding out a filled cup. “You were putting on such a thick Scottish accent I could barely understand a word you were saying.”

“I did?” Aziraphale asked, accepting the cup and looking as if he couldn't decide if he should be shocked or scandalized.

Flinging an arm around the angel’s waist, Crowley shrugged with a mischievous smile. “Although I did make out that you owe me six.”

Finally beginning to relax, the angel gave his friend a skeptical smile. “Do I now?”

“Oh yeah," the demon said, projecting his best honest face.

“Well, can I trade you one owed for a nice breakfast?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley cocked his head to one side as if deep in thought. “I could go for a crepe.”

The brightest of smiles lit up the angel’s face and he carefully set his cup down and straightened his collar. “Wonderful. Shall we?”

Crowley plucked his sunglasses from his pocket and pushed them on one handed. “Lead the way, Angel.”

If the demon kept his arm around his angel the entire walk, Aziraphale never mentioned it. And if the angel huddled closer to Crowley’s warmth, resting his head against his friend’s shoulder as they waited to cross a street, the demon never said a word about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Chatting with the Void on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/KnockoutRambles)  
> 


End file.
